From ashes to splendor, societies struck precious ore…
So a few could horde the wealth, and the rest remain poor.
Those few will wrestle,
For some empty soap boxes made-to-seem pedestals.
Painted gold crowns made to seem special,
As the gold trim will fade, so too power will wade,
It will faint –
Right into the hands of another tyrant-turned-saint.
The crown belongs to many heads.
Power is unfaithful, sleeping in many beds.
To kings and queens alike.
To thieves and cowards alike.
To the righteous and venerable alike.
To the violent and reviled alike.
The crown belongs to so many heads…
A proud lion surveys the pride at the top of the hill.
Crafty spiders make their webs on the utmost corner of your window sills.
When you are at the edge of your world it is easier to kill or be killed.
For, as nature pits the herd against the bull,
So, too, are the mighty and the powerful made a target.
Kings and queens swept under the carpet,
By the tides of history,
Left alone in misery, they don’t become peasants,
But monsters told over and over again in legends…
The mighty rule the mountains and heavens,
They mark each and every stone. But time comes for every throne.
The strong will be made weak. Kingdoms will return to the meek.
Because, the crown belongs to many heads,
Power is unfaithful, sleeping in many beds.
For the glory, many will wrestle,
It would be wise, not to anoint your head,
Before you take the pedestal…
Written by Thorne McFarlane a.k.a Fatal Dawn
So a few could horde the wealth, and the rest remain poor.
Those few will wrestle,
For some empty soap boxes made-to-seem pedestals.
Painted gold crowns made to seem special,
As the gold trim will fade, so too power will wade,
It will faint –
Right into the hands of another tyrant-turned-saint.
The crown belongs to many heads.
Power is unfaithful, sleeping in many beds.
To kings and queens alike.
To thieves and cowards alike.
To the righteous and venerable alike.
To the violent and reviled alike.
The crown belongs to so many heads…
A proud lion surveys the pride at the top of the hill.
Crafty spiders make their webs on the utmost corner of your window sills.
When you are at the edge of your world it is easier to kill or be killed.
For, as nature pits the herd against the bull,
So, too, are the mighty and the powerful made a target.
Kings and queens swept under the carpet,
By the tides of history,
Left alone in misery, they don’t become peasants,
But monsters told over and over again in legends…
The mighty rule the mountains and heavens,
They mark each and every stone. But time comes for every throne.
The strong will be made weak. Kingdoms will return to the meek.
Because, the crown belongs to many heads,
Power is unfaithful, sleeping in many beds.
For the glory, many will wrestle,
It would be wise, not to anoint your head,
Before you take the pedestal…
Written by Thorne McFarlane a.k.a Fatal Dawn
